Year of the Dragon
by witchfingers
Summary: China arrives home one evening to find England's been teaching his boss some western tales about dragons. It can't certainly end well now, can it?


_I can't believe I'm writing Hetalia. Oh well. FOr the sake of procrastination._

_(dedicated to my sister- the guilty party)_

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><p><strong>Year of the Dragon<strong>

**I**

"I'm home!" China called as he came in through the great red gates. Outside, the sky was indigo and murky with early winter chill, and he took off his mud-stained boots before stepping onto the immaculate polished wood tiles.

His house was silent and smelt like spices.

Dropping an empty cloth sack, he headed to the bath room, thinking that it was strange that nothing moved in the usually bustling household. He felt he'd need to soak in warm water for another few millennia to ease away all the knots Russia was adding to his back. What with his latest thing for singing that song of his all the time, how did it go, with that infernally catching tune, too,

_I like blood because it's Red, I like blood because it's Red…_

**II**

Although he was very hungry, he spent a long while in the soothing water, feeling the tension of the day wear off.

"Ahh," he sighed, contented, "I'll have like a hundred bowls of rice and _chūn juǎn_ and jasmine green tea…"

A round of laughter froze him to his core, due to the unnatural quality of the voices laughing, and all his dreams of a quiet, tasty evening were soon sinking in his bath tub.

"What could make the bosses so…" he failed to grasp the word, but that didn't prevent him from frowning and deciding to investigate. So, with the greatest pity weighing on his soul, he stepped out of his bath and slipped on his pretty white bath robe. His loose hair started to dampen a wet halo round his shoulders as he fastened the robe around his hips and, leaving a trail of watery footprints on the wood, walked towards the main room.

**III**

"Ey China!" a voice that rang familiar called, "Where were you? Nevermind, I was having this conversation with your bosses. Such endearing fellows, they are!"

The word 'endearing' gave England away at once, and China felt a shiver of uneasiness shake him underneath the extremely comfortable bath robe.

An _aiyaa_ and some self-encouragement words later, China was answering, "England, hello… What are you doing here?" If the younger country expected politeness from him, it would do him good to know he'd not be offering it blindly to trespassers. Or unannounced guests. Which was another way of saying, precisely, trespassers. His eyebrows knit in preoccupation despite himself.

England was in an excellent mood, drinking tea with the impressive dragon that was China's boss.

"I was bored back at home," England explained nonchalantly, "…so I was talking to France on Facebook about astrology. He told me that this year is the Year of the Dragon for the Chinese, and I thought I could come find out myself."

China, who had by then forgotten all about the bath he'd just taken and the crappy day he'd had, poured himself a cup of Oolong tea, with a sigh (it wasn't green tea, but it would have to do) and sat down across England, all the while feeling his bosses' eyes on the back of his neck.

"And, I arrive, and you're out," England went on, talking to China with much more familiarity than the Asian country was willing to take from the former pirate, "but then your boss told me I could wait for you. And he's told me so many things! I had no idea you kept nine dragons in your house!"

"All nine of them are the boss," China muttered quite resigned. It had been so easy before, when there was one emperor alone. No contradictions, no strange penchants for self-destructive Western ideas…

"All nine…? Woah," England exclaimed, feigning interest. "Anyway, the thing is, I've been telling your bosses a few stories of my home!"

China was old enough to know when he should worry, and the overly enthusiastic sparkle in the eyes of his bosses was enough a clue. He felt he could feel sick at any moment now, and tried to divert his thoughts by savoring a sip of his tea, of a beautiful mahogany color.

"About St. George and the dragon, for example," England mused, and China's scaly boss muttered, deep and clear,

"First thing tomorrow morning, a decree: any citizen named George will be executed,"

China shivered. Suddenly he didn't like it that the room was so dark or so large or so full of apparently very influentiable magical creatures…

"W-what else did you tell him…?"

"Trifles! Goodness gracious, China, don't look at me like I'm spreading the revolution…!"

The silence became heavier…

"… no offense intended…!" England said sheepishly, and seemed to reconsider something, because he added, "I've just noticed that it's not too late and I can still go pay a visit to Hong Kong…"

And just like that the blond country was saying his goodbyes to the nine dragons that usually no one but China himself could see, and was putting on his tartan scarf, and was finishing his tea and leaving, and China soon found himself alone in the middle of the room, his boss and his eight brothers hovering around, looking at eachother in some kind of telepathic council.

China sighed. Although he had forgotten his backache for as long as his worry lasted, it seemed to return with a vengeance, and he so much wanted to slip into his futon and sleep until the next dynasty.

"We are reconsidering," his boss said, and a murmur of approvation rose from the other dragons, "We've liked this idea of dragons and caves full of treasures. So what do you think, China…"

(China braced himself for the worst… treasures? Wherefrom would they get them? It would mean another Opium war, most surely! .. or even Capitalism! Economic crisis! Unemployment! Famine…! -)

"… about stealing them from Spain? England said it worked for him in the 17th century…"

With a dulled _aiyaa_, China fell on his knees, dizzy from worry, relief, and a very distinct feeling of _WTF_…

The nine dragons, discussing the particulars of their new enterprise, soon forgot about the weary country. As China slouched out of the room he could very well hear them say, "First thing we'll need, is a large ship, I reckon, and some eyepatches…"

**IV**

China sat on the edge of the wooden deck, looking out to the bamboo forest that stretched outside his house. A cup of jasmine green tea was getting cold by his side, together with what was left of a half-eaten _chūn juǎn_.

Panda came out of the bamboo, chewing on a bunch of leaves, and China saw him cross the garden and come up to him, and, humming a little tune, it took a sit next to him. China dreaded that he could easily put words to the tune his national animal hummed,

_I like blood because it's Red, I like blood because it's Red_…

The four thousand year old country sighed. He'd been doing that a lot.

"Hey Panda," he asked, "You wouldn't happen to be called George, would you?"

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

_* chūn juǎn_ = 春卷 = spring roll. There you go, Wikipedia.

* Russia's song, "_I like blood because it's Red" _ must be sung to the melody of Marukaite Chikyuu. Because it's THAT ANNOYING. I present to you the complete version:

_I like blood because it's Red,_

_ I like blood because it's Red,_

_I like blood because it's Red, _

_and you're all gonna die!_

* Did you notice the story has four parts? Four is a very unlucky number for the Chinese :P

- Hope you enjoyed my first Hetalia fic. And my first attempt at *humor* in a very, very long while! Have a nice day!


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